The Axe and the Throne (33 page)

Cassen believed the Satyr's faith and worship of the celestial deities to be genuine, and his swearing by them further evidence of the veracity of their alliance.

“Well then, you need only know that I have efforts in place to improve the ease at which you will achieve conquest. Should any of them succeed, you will face a kingdom led by a fool, and an army already engaged elsewhere, fighting its own people. What's more, the hungry populace should embrace new authority, so long as they are provided with some minor compensations.”

“We Sacarans are no strangers to the exchange of food for loyalty. Some say there is no greater loyalty, and offer animal companions as their example. Those we rule are little different after all.” Sacarat did not appear to be mocking the masses, but rather stating what he believed to be a universal truth.

“I believe you are right in that. Let us drink, then, to our ruling over many human pets. Is it not a custom among your people to offer refreshment to those aboard your vessel? Even to a rival such as I?” Cassen was thirsty beyond measure at this point, but his priority had been their business, which now seemed settled.

“Yes, of course. How poor are my manners! Let us drink!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The idea to construct another boat had been discarded in favor of building a raft. Neither he nor Keethro had any experience on real rivers, but it seemed implausible that there would be any sizeable waves, and that a large, flat raft should do nicely. The memory of sleepless nights on the Timid Sea bade them make ample room to lie flat and nap.

They had floated less than a mile on their hasty creation before their inexperience with their materials became evident. The dry horse leather that bound the timbers expanded, making the structure unstable, barely holding together long enough to make shore. They were not too upset at the failure, as they both conceded they had aimed too small to start, with not quite as much room for sleep and storage as would have been preferred. They then spent a day constructing what was, to them, a true work of art: a giant raft one man in width by three in length, bound this time with horse leather that had already soaked. After a strenuous launch and some backslapping, they floated down the river atop their lazy behemoth as if they had tamed a mighty beast.

“How much longer will it be?” Titon growled, doing his best to remain calm. Keethro showed no sign of responding, which only added to Titon's annoyance.

Aside from his current torment, the voyage had been slow but pleasing, and compared to the time spent on the sea, this river rafting experience was one of luxury and leisure. There was usually no wind, but the wind that did come was welcomed to help mitigate the heat. Despite the season, the temperature had risen to an uncomfortable level, at least for Galatai, and they found their stolen coats to be too heavy even for the cooler nights. Deciding to throw them into the water was perhaps the greatest decision they had made, as each man admitted to having thought the other's smell was an irremediable burden that would have to be borne for the duration of the journey.

Of the few people they'd seen on shore during their trip thus far, they'd only been close enough to make contact with one. A young boy with a pole had a line in the water, fishing from the muddy bank. It was not apparent to Titon if the boy spoke a different language, was dumb, or was merely afraid, but his attempt to speak to him as they passed by was met with no success. “Hullo there, boy,” Titon had said, sounding as harmless and amicable as possible. “Do you know what city lies down this river?” The boy stared, jaw agape, his wide eyes alternating between Titon and the giant horse hock. “It's just food,” Titon had explained before taking a bite of it to demonstrate. That had been enough for the boy, who abandoned his pole and ran. “Goodbye then,” Titon called out to the boy's back, unsure of what else he could have done to seem less threatening. “We need to work on your table manners,” Keethro had taunted, and Titon decided he'd let Keethro do the sweet talking next time.

“By the Mountain's tits, it takes you long enough to prepare a simple meal,” Titon griped in frustration.

The scents that filled Titon's nostrils were those of sizzling fat and onions. With little else to do as they drifted, the men had alternated cooking meals as a form of competition. Titon was confident his skills learned over the years cooking for his wife would have given him a clear advantage, but Keethro had shown a surprising prowess when it came to inventing ways to prepare their unfamiliar game.

They were also no longer alone on their journey. They found the third member of their party, Iron Hips they had dubbed her, on the side of the river, probably left there due to her heft and rough edges. After they took turns washing and scrubbing her with some horsehide, they had a skillet free from rust scale and ready for curing. Keethro had Iron Hips over the fire that burned at the center of their raft, cooking up his latest inspiration. The wet logs that comprised their raft served as a suitable platform for keeping their small fire going without risk of igniting themselves, and thankfully no rain had threatened since they set off.

“It is no wonder your food tastes good, given our starved state by the time it is prepared,” Titon went on. The skill that Keethro had shown with this new skillet was beginning to try Titon's patience.
Damn this Keethro. He is a natural at all things it seems, save archery.

“Eat some horse jerky if you are so hungry. I am working here,” said the chef.

Titon let out a noise of disgust and did not move to eat any jerky. His stomach, twisted in a knot, would not allow him to eat anything other than what the smells promised.

Life was abundant on this stretch of slow, dark water. Whiskered rodents floated on their backs, diving as soon as they were spotted, lank birds with long curved beaks speared minnows in the river grass near the shore, and schools of small fish broke the surface everywhere. Their well-preserved horsemeat was rarely needed as Titon was able to shoot birds at will, standing steady upon their raft. Just today, he had taken two stout birds with webbed feet and rounded beaks, which supplied the meat for the pending meal. The previous day, Titon had made of the same type of bird a stew flavored with sprigs from a small bush with blue flowers, leaves like short pine needles, and a woody scent. It was a savory stew with a generous amount of fat pooled on the top, some of which Keethro had saved. He was using it now to fry the breasts from the two birds, fat side down, for what seemed like a lifetime. Having just added wild onions to the bubbling liquid, the aroma it gave off was intoxicating.

“It must have been a week on this river so far, no?” Titon asked, trying not to lisp with the excess saliva in his mouth.

Keethro moved the breasts each to their own dry piece of wood while he fried some green beans they'd found along the bank. There was also a generous portion of a red berry sauce in a hollowed wooden bowl. These were not the tinder berries they were accustomed to in the North that grew in singleton and had a pungent, somewhat sour taste. These grew in tiny clusters—a sign of danger—but one taste of a tiny burst drupelet, and they knew that these sweet, mildly tart berries were more than edible.

“A week and a day, I believe,” said Keethro.

“I must admit, it has been a finer week than I had expected.” With ample time for reflection, Titon had become grateful to Keethro for talking him out of marching directly to Strahl.

“It's about to get better.” Keethro transferred the cooked beans to the plates with the meat and scraped some salt on top with his knife. He then picked up a breast, dipped it in berry sauce, and took a bite. A devious smile grew on his face as he chewed.

Titon wasted no time doing the same. The thick layer of fatty skin had rendered down to a chewy shell on top of the dark, warm meat, infused with the scent and taste of the wild onions. Titon chewed and swallowed, then found himself dipping the meat again into the berry sauce that he had been prepared to mock, his plans of ridiculing Keethro for serving meat and dessert together forgotten.

Keethro finished chewing some of his green beans, nodding his head in approval of their taste as he asked, “Well?”

“Goat leather,” Titon said, barely having time to speak in between bites.

“Ha!” laughed Keethro. He continued to eat with the self-satisfied smirk of a man who had received a compliment beyond expectation.

Amused at his own stubbornness and wearing a grin of his own, Titon went to start on his second breast when their raft lurched to the side, sending much of their stacked firewood into the water.

“A rock?” Keethro stood and looked around for evidence to support his theory.

“Rocks do not hit from the side.” Titon knew it must have been a living thing that bumped their raft—a living thing with a weight no less than ten men to have caused such a jolt. “Get your spear.”

Titon had his bow at the ready and Keethro a simple spear with a fire-hardened tip. The river that once brimmed with activity had gone barren, the only ripples in the tea-colored water coming from their raft and floating firewood.

Fifteen paces in front of them, directly in their line of travel, they saw what to Titon looked to be no less than a dragon from children's tales, real, alive, and angry. From snout to tail it was easily the length of their raft. It was covered in what appeared to be greenish-black armor with multiple rows of blunted spikes down its neck, back, and tail. Great teeth protruded upward and downward along the sides of its long jaws, smiling death at them.

Titon loosed a shot. The lightweight arrow screamed through the air, striking between the eyes as intended, but bounced off harmlessly, no use against the thick armored skin. The beast disappeared underwater with no hint as to its intended direction. Titon retrieved his own spear, his knife tied to the end, and the two men stood back to back near the center of their raft, poised for action. Titon was sure to not be alone in wishing they had kept the spears from the men they'd recently killed, having discarded them due to their distinctive markings likely identifying them as weapons exclusive to city guards.

“Dawnstar shine light! What was that beast?” Titon was possibly more curious than afraid.

“The river's guardian from the looks of it. The question is how do we kill it or at least scare it off?”

“Same as anything. We poke it with sticks until—”

Both men were knocked to their knees as the beast attacked their vessel, lifting an edge out of the water and ripping a piece of punky wood from the side. Neither had a chance to strike at it, but that problem resolved itself as the beast burst from the water to the rear of the raft, lunging on top. The raft tipped them both toward danger as half their foe's body was planted on the stern, its jaws wide open, ready to snap at anything that came within range. Relieved to see no flames spewing from its mouth, Titon righted himself and prepared to attack in sync with his friend.

Keethro's spear landed in the mouth of the creature and was snapped in half, but the knife point of Titon's spear bit into the creature's shoulder. A dark purple blood oozed out of the wound as the angry beast thrashed about, splashing water with its mighty tail as it withdrew into the river.

“Knife,” Titon said.

Keethro complied quickly, tossing him the knife from his belt. Titon heard his friend protest unintelligibly as Titon dove, headfirst, into the water.

The grossly warm water engulfed him as he swam for the bottom. Earlier testing with the long branches had revealed the depth of the river varied, sometimes getting too deep to scratch bottom and with plenty of fallen trees and rocks below on which to get hung up. Titon's attempt to open his eyes was useless, seeing only darkness.

His hands probed around, easily sliding to elbow's length into the slimy decay of the river floor, expecting at any moment to touch the armored back or the toothed snout of their adversary.

With throbbing lungs, Titon made his way to the surface, feeling more vulnerable than he had at the bottom. As he swam to the raft, his foot kicked something solid, but a glance revealed it was a piece of their floating firewood. Keethro hoisted him to safety as soon as he was within arm's length.

“Are you mad?” Keethro demanded of him.

Titon tossed the dark, heavy object he had stuffed in his shirt to the floor of the raft with a clang, smiling after having regained his breath. “I would have been, had we lost old Iron Hips.”